Wings of His Own
by Dalla1
Summary: This is just an angsty little thing that I had laying in my head for ages. Actually inspired by a pic done by Resuko.


Disclaimer: I don't own Escaflowne, Vision of Escaflowne, Escaflowne: A Girl In Gaea, or any other way you want to title the series / movie. I WISH I did! Anyway, this story has violence, death, insanity (it's Dilly-kun! of course there's insanity!), and shonen-ai (boy/boy relationships). If any of this offends you, don't read this fic. If you feel the need to flame me for my tastes, please do it at alodalanteriel@yahoo.com or phinixfire@yahoo.com as those are the only addresses I ever check. If I haven't offended you, please read on and enjoy the yummy Dil/Vanness!  
  
Wings of His Own  
  
by  
  
Dalla  
  
"What have I done?" Dilandau whispered. Then, speaking louder, "Van, Van get up. This isn't funny Van. Van . . . . Van . . . . VAN!!!!" Dilandau screeched shrilly. Van lay sprawled on the floor of the study, a pool of blood congealing around him. Dilandau, now hysterical, fell to his knees, and grabbed Van's body by the shoulders, shaking him. Then looked on in horror as Van's head lolled crazily on a neck gone completely limp. Dilandau clutched the body fiercely to his chest and tossed back his head, howling one shrill, impossibly grief-filled note. The high, wordless cry of pain echoed through the house.  
  
Still kneeling in the now chilled and clotted blood, Dilandau's wail was cut short by a choked sob. He convulsed painfully, gripping Van ever closer as his tears began to flow. "Van, Van . . . . I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it . . . . I didn't mean it . . . . I did---" Dilandau chanted brokenly over and over as the tears continued to pour down his cheeks unchecked. He rocked slowly back and forth, absently smoothing Van's hair, threading his fingers through the thick silken mass. After a few moments, Dilandau happened to glance down, and had to stifle a scream. Blood now coated Van's raven hair, making it glisten with garnet highlights in the dim light. Bewildered, Dilandau looked frantically for the source of the blood, and caught sight of his own hand. He was horrified to find it dripping with icy blood. Dilandau groaned in misery and pain. Letting his eyes close, Dilanau dropped his head forward to rest against Van's cold shoulder.  
  
Time passed; but whether it was minutes or hours Dilandau neither knew nor cared. When he finally lifted his head, Dilandau looked around at the room, dazed. Then, glancing down at the beloved body still held so closely to his own, Dilandau smiled. It was a thing of pure madness that smile, a testament to the utterly crazed plan now forming in his poor, broken mind.  
  
When Dilandau spoke, there was a tightness in his voice, an anticipation underlying the murmured words. "I've decided Van. I know what to do now. We'll be together again." With gentle motions, Dilandau started to untangle himself from the corpse. He laid Van on the floor and took time arranging the body, until he was satisfied with the result. With a last, soft tug, Dilandau sat back on his heels and surveyed the results of his meticulous attentions. Now, only the reddish highlights in Van's hair and the torn, blood-encrusted shirt hinted at what had truly happened. As a final gesture, Dilandau crossed Van's arms upon his chest.  
  
"It'll do for now, " Dilandau muttered, nodding his head slowly. "Now for the helper." That said, Dilandau stood and crossed to Van's other side. There, in a clotted stain, lay a gleaming dagger. Dilandau picked it up, but it slid through his grasp, so gore-covered the dragon graved on the hilt was nearly invisible. More careful this time, Dilandau again held the dagger, using what little unbloodied material of his shirt he had to clean most of the blood away. Now he could see the dragon, and for a moment, marveled at the detail. A gift to Van that very day and the precursor to the devastation now surrounding him. It seemed, as Dilandau watched, that the dragon turned it's gaze to stare accusingly at it's former owner's murderer. For a brief moment, Dilandau wanted to fling the blade away, as far from him as could possibly go. But then he had a better thought. "Yes! Yes my friend! Help me in my task and we shall both have what we desire. Revenge for you . . . . . . . and freedom for me." Dilandau felt an insane laughter bubbling up in his throat. Giving in to it, he threw back his head, spread wide his arms, and cackled maniacally. When the fit left him, he slumped forward, his head resting on Van's chest. Dilandau stayed there, panting, for a few moments, smelling blood, but finding the tangy, coppery scent strangely pleasant. Finally, Dilandau forced himself to move. He laid the dagger down on a bit of clean floor, and then bent over Van's stiffening face. For the last time, Dilandau leaned forward, his fingers stroking Van's cheek as he kissed his lover good-bye. Dilandau pulled back sharply shuddering, both from the feel of those icy-hard lips, and from a sudden, internal chill.  
  
"It's time," Dilandau said, reclaiming the dagger and straightening up. He placed the glittering blade against his neck, feeling his pulse beat strongly. It felt as though the metal both burned and froze where it lay along his skin. "Cut well and deeply," he muttered, bringing his other hand up to the dagger's hilt for added strength. With a glance at Van's still face, Dilandau uttered his final words, "I know I never said it outright, but I did love you. I'll always love you."  
  
Dilandau dragged the blade across his throat. The combination of the sharpness of the blade and the strength of his arms let the dagger pass easily through skin, muscle, and tendon. It cut so deeply that it mostly severed his windpipe before his grip began to weaken. Dilandau's last, choked gasp of breath could have been a sigh of pleasure. As the blood cascaded from the gaping wound, Dilandau's last thought was that dying wasn't as bad as he'd imagined. His body fell forward, and then to the side, settling into the still-growing pool of blood that now surrounded him.  
  
But Dilandau didn't know that. Nor did he hear the scream of the housekeeper when she entered the room a moment later. All Dilandau knew was the shining of Van's beautiful wings as he sped towards him on a pair of his own. 


End file.
